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The first breakfast of the term was always noisy — laughter echoing off stone, owls swooping down with letters, and the clinking of cutlery on plates.
It was the kind of morning that made Hogwarts feel alive again.
Until Lockhart opened his mouth.
“Ah, Severus, my boy!” he said brightly, striding up to the staff table like he owned it.
His robes glittered in the sunlight streaming through the enchanted ceiling, teeth flashing as he clapped a hand onto Snape’s shoulder.
Several heads turned.
Snape went utterly still.
A hush rippled outward, subtle but sharp, until the nearby students slowed their chatter to watch.
McGonagall’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Sprout blinked. Flitwick set down his teacup with a tiny, deliberate clink.
Lockhart, oblivious to the tension thickening around him, grinned on. “Oh, come now, no need to look so grim! We’re colleagues now — partners in pedagogy! I daresay you could use a bit of charm advice from an old hand like me.”
The sound of a chair scraping back cut him off.
McGonagall rose from her seat.
Her expression was composed, but the sharpness in her voice could’ve sliced glass. “Professor Lockhart.”
Every student within earshot went silent. Even the owls seemed to hesitate mid-flight.
“Perhaps,” she said coolly, “you should refrain from addressing your colleagues as ‘boy.’ Especially those who have been teaching here since you were still trying to master a Memory Charm properly.”
The corner of Sprout’s mouth twitched upward. “If he even managed it then,” she muttered.
Flitwick gave a tiny, indignant cough. “Yes, quite right, Minerva. Professor Snape is our youngest colleague, yes, but also one of our most skilled.”
Lockhart blinked, his dazzling smile faltering. “Well, of course, I didn’t mean—”
“I rather think you did,” McGonagall interrupted, eyes flashing dangerously. “And I would advise you not to make that mistake again.”
Snape still hadn’t moved. He sat rigid, jaw clenched, dark eyes unreadable — but the subtle tightening of his fingers around his coffee cup betrayed the smallest flicker of irritation.
Lockhart’s smile wavered. “I-I was just joking, really. Lighthearted fun—”
“Fun,” McGonagall repeated, her tone deadly calm, “is calling someone by their proper title. Not ‘boy.’”
Lockhart’s color shifted slightly as he raised his hands in surrender while sitting down. “Of course, of course! No offense meant, I assure you!”
The students watching were wide-eyed. Several whispered among themselves, amazed.
“Did… did they just all defend Snape?” one third-year breathed.
At the Gryffindor table, the students leaned in conspiratorially.
“Note to self,” Ron whispered, “never call Snape ‘boy.’”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though she smiled faintly. “Lesson learned. Hogwarts staff: surprisingly terrifying when they work together.”